Morris folds his arms, continuing to frown at Michael. A sigh rumbles out of him. “Yes, I am here a lot. Shem is an old friend, I know him from when I first come to America. Sometimes I brought Michael here when he was a little boy, but…” He trails off, his expression softening into something more like concern, and he leans over to rest his arms on the table.
“You said you have something you want to talk about, Michael,” he prompts. “That is why we are here, no? Tell us, then, what is it?”
Michael’s heart revs back up again. He’s been over everything again and again with Wolfgang—they’d reassured him that this wasn’t a selfish decision, nothing unspeakably bad would happen to him, it was a natural thing to want, he should try to ignore all the terrible transmissions he’d been getting lately. He wants to believe them, has put a lot of effort into doing so, but no matter how confident he might have felt at any previous point it is nerve-wracking to know that once he says it out loud to his father he cannot take it back.
“Uh, Pop, we’re, uh… I shoulda told you about us earlier, okay, but we’ve been together a while, and…” He shifts around in his seat, wishing to God he weren’t in his work clothes right now. He’s so uncomfortable and so, so tired. Fridays are the worst. “We’ve been looking for a place, you know, for us. I’m—I’m gonna move out, and we’re gonna live together.”
Morris is momentarily shocked speechless. He seems equally torn between incredulity and joy until that same concern appears again, drawing his brows together. He takes a sip of water, then looks at Michael and says, “You have thought this through?”
“Yes, Pop, I’ve thought it through,” Michael replies defensively. “It’s fine.”
Morris looks at Wolfgang, then. “You are a very brave woman, to want to live with my son,” he says, again as though they are in on something together, half-joking and half-serious. “I hope you know what you are getting into.”